Being A Killer
by LockedIn221B
Summary: John needed this desperately. He craved the power he had as he held their lives in his hands. He didn't feel guilty about it. He was a killer and he needed to kill.


John sat in the café staring across at the empty chair opposite him. He tapped the wooden stirring stick against the metal of the small circular table top. His eyes drifted to outside the window where commuters hurried past with umbrellas being blown inside out. They had their coat collars tucked around their necks stopping the wind and rain touching the skin. The people ran to and fro in chaos searching for shelter as if the rain would literally scold them.

John lent further back in his chair enjoying the warmth of the small café. There were only a few other people in the shop, most were elderly or unemployed. John shivered as a new customer entered the café letting in a chilling December breeze.

The blonde doctor looked up at the soaking wet woman and let a small smile creep across his face. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall, 9:00. Right on time, as always. He looked down to his right hand where he held a small picture of the same lady.

John picked up his cardboard cup and drained the remaining tea into his mouth. He stood up to leave just as the woman finished paying. The doctor tucked the picture into his coat pocket as he slipped his arm into the sleeve.

The woman left the unaware that John was just meters behind her. As he weaved expertly through the London foot traffic he could feel the wet dribbling down the back of his neck, making his shirt damp.

He continued to follow the woman down various streets and roads towards her destination.

The lady that John was following turned slightly and looked directly at the doctor. It was now obvious she knew the ex-soldier was following her.

John sped up so he was only a few feet behind her. He followed her as she turned down a quieter street. After checking that he wasn't being watched he lunged for the lady. He pulled a chloroform covered rag out of his pocket and without hesitation wrapped it around his victim's mouth and nose. He continued to hold tightly to the struggling woman until she went limp in his strong arms. He checked around again for any witnesses before pulling the knocked out woman 100 foot into an empty alley.

The doctor placed the woman on the floor propped up against the red brick wall. He brushed her long wet hair out of her eyes before proceeding to pull the picture out of his pocket. He studied the photograph and the woman, making sure that they were the same person. John sheltered the photo from the rain under his hand. He was sure this was the right woman. He put the photograph away again before taking a syringe and needle out of the same pocket.

The doctor paused for a minute and inspected the cloudy liquid inside the syringe. He briefly wondered what it was. What made up this toxic mix of chemicals that could kill a human in a matter of minutes? He shook his head swiftly. He must not dwell on it. Curiosity killed the cat and in his case curiosity would kill not the cat, but it would kill him, literally.

He'd been assured by the person who gave him his victims that wanting to know more was dangerous. His employer told him that each person had done something wrong. Something that made them needed to be removed, permanently. His employer didn't realise that John didn't need to be paid to do this. He needed this desperately. He craved the satisfaction of a person dealt with or sorted out. He craved the power he held as he held their lives in his hands. He needed this.

He needed to be in Afghanistan where killing someone, as long as it was the enemy, wasn't wrong or even uncommon. He wasn't in Afghanistan so he had to do whatever it took to get his fix. His dose.

He rolled back the woman's dripping wet sleeve before injecting the liquid into the blue vein with practiced ease. When it was all injected he stood and turned from the woman. She would be dead before John had even returned home. A cunning smile slowly spread across his face.

He didn't feel guilty about it.

He was a killer and he needed to kill.


End file.
